First of all, are you fucking retarded or something? I drive a 1997 Chevy Lumina with a perpetually low back tire, the onset of rust, and massive hail damage. What the fuck were you doing trying to break into it? Nobody wants my car for anything, not even joyriding, unless, of course, you enjoy the rattling sound it makes when trying to accelerate in colder temperatures. And in that case, go buy your own shitty car. It’ll probably set you back about $1500.00. You could make that in a couple of months. Or less, depending on your profession, which, judging by your behavior, I’m guessing is either nothing or something illegal. If the latter, you should be able to make that $1500.00 rather quickly. I understand that your demonstrated decision-making skills are probably not top caliber and you therefore may not have experience with setting priorities, but I guarantee you that the HD TV, the leather living room set from Rent-A-Center, and the iPhone can wait. Buy your own fucking car, fuckface. Until then, take the fucking bus like everybody else.

Don’t sneak up to my broke ass car in the middle of the night and jam a screwdriver through both locks in an attempt to get in. First of all, a Lumina is honest-to-goodness American engineering. It’s family sedan, for chrissakes, if you want something easy to steal, there’s a shitload of Hondas and Toyotas on my block.

Second, I’m aware that my car was in the alley and therefore you considered it easy pickins, but I parked it back there because there were no spots on my street. I’d rather park behind my own garage at 11:30pm than walk a block and a half through Rapeville, USA. It’s not like my car was abandoned in the alley, anyway; it was neatly parked behind the garage, with my back bumper visible through the fence so I could walk leisurely to it in the morning without having to panic over whether or not it was still there.

Which I’d never truly done before, because it’s a 1997 Chevy Lumina. Who wants that? Well, you, apparently, which is to say your sub-literate, crack-addled, inconsiderate, useless-to-general-society self. I can’t even fathom that you wanted anything inside the car, either, not unless the market for old QuikTrip cups recently skyrocketed. There were books in my car, too, but I assume someone in your position doesn’t read much.

The thing that pisses me off the most isn’t that you broke my car. I can fix the car. Sure, I had to make a police report and be late to work and I’ll have to pay to get the locks rebuilt, but those things are manageable. What pisses me off is that you wanted something of mine. You wanted something that I worked for and paid off on my own. That car might not be much, but it’s mine. Not yours. MINE. Thinking that you can just come along and take MY SHIT because it’s there is bullshit. I was broke once, too, motherfucker, I had nothing. It’s taken about 6 years to get it all back and nothing’s too fancy, but what I have is not up for grabs. I have no sympathy for your stupid ass walking around alleys in the cold, “shopping” for piece of shit cars that someone else owns. What idiotic, insectile part of your brain saw my car and thought “Yeah, that’s the one for me”? Was it the same one that prevents you from paying your bills, or the one that compels you to conduct this sort of enterprise instead of, oh, I don’t know, showing up on time several days a week in a climate-controlled environment and behaving like someone who isn’t a compulsively masturbating chimp with a drooling problem?

And don’t give me that shit about my living in a shitty neighborhood means I should expect and appreciate this sort of thing. Fuck you, okay, I’m from here. My first car was broken into when I was 16, I know the fucking drill. But I paid for that one on my own, too, and I was just as angry about it then. I’ve lived here for 4 years. I pay rent. I lock my doors and I don’t have nice things and you have no right trying to take what’s mine. You don’t have the right to make me feel violated and helpless and scared that next time you’ll come inside the house. You are a loathsome, transient asshole who, failing jail, needs to creep back north- and east-ward where someone with more firepower than I have can catch you in the act and teach you a fucking lesson.

Fuck you.

Seriously.

Fuck you.

Sincerely,

Me and My 1997 Chevy Lumina

4life.

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.